


Biased Love

by Donvex



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, Living in the same building, M/M, alternative universe, no wendigos and no pranks, repetitive phrasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 14:24:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5093987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donvex/pseuds/Donvex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris doesn’t like Josh.</p><p>It’s not that he plays his music too loud and too late, because that’s Josh’s neighbor. It’s not because he’s constantly trying to sell drugs to other tenants, because that’s the chick on Chris’ floor. And it’s not that he’s a jerk, either, because really, he isn’t.</p><p>So no, it’s none of those.</p><p>Chris just doesn’t like Josh because he knows he should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biased Love

Chris doesn’t like Josh.

It’s not that he plays his music too loud and too late, because that’s Josh’s neighbor, always blasting his terrible eighties rock at two thirty in the morning. It’s not because he’s constantly trying to sell drugs to other tenants, because that’s the chick on Chris’ floor. She’s right in front of the elevator, too, monopolizing the inevitable traffic that comes in and out.

And it’s not that he’s a jerk, either, because really, he isn’t. Chris remembers once running through the unexpected rain without an umbrella and seeing Josh at the doorway to their building. He was calculating if the door would still be swinging open by the time Josh slipped inside, because his arms were wrapped tightly around the pizza box he had gone out for, but Josh had actually stood out in the rain and let himself get soaked just to hold the door open for Chris.

So no, it’s none of those.

Chris just doesn’t like Josh because he knows he should.

Everyone loves him. Who wouldn’t fall all over a well known director that lives locally in his home town? And really, when he’s made so much bank, when he was rich by his family alone even before making it in the video industry, why is he slumming it up with the poor college kids?

College. All nighters and last minute changes and having no money for food and sacrificing socializing for grades and living in awful apartments and overworking just to meet requirements and always being tired and the terrifying fear of student debts and-

and, and.

Chris is out of breathe just thinking about it, and he decides to finally stop daydreaming as a form of procrastination and to just go to bed.

∎

Chris doesn’t like Josh.

At least, he doesn’t want to, but it’s really hard to not after actually spending time with him.

With that lazy slouch he carries, and his equally lazy smile. It’s as if he has no burdens, even though Chris can see very clearly the exhaustion on his face. It works for him, though. His whole aura radiates familiarity, speaks of being comfortable with life even though it keeps dealing shit hand after shit hand. It’s actually a pretty relaxing personality to be around.

Chris just can’t believe he’s stuck in an elevator with him. 

The walls are cold and reflective, with metal bars screwed in as a form of support. The lights are white and blinding, the only feature in the small square to seem new, and skid marks cover the floor. There’s not nearly as many levels and one would suspect after watching so much television, either, and Chris would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed at such a missed opportunity for ruining someone’s day by making them stop at every single one.

“What a goddamn awful apartment building. It’s like a rom com. A really awful, trope-filled, low budget rom com.” He doesn’t know if he’s saying this to make conversation, or just to fill the silence. Chris doesn’t really know how to sit and take in the quiet, and he honestly never plans to learn. Talking is fine with Chris. Chris likes making conversation - when it isn’t awkward and forced, that is. Which may be more often than he admits, but whatever, he’s smooth, right?

He’s so far into his internal monologue that he almost misses the response he wasn’t expecting to get. “Come on, Chris. It’s romantic.” Josh is holding his arms out to his sides, shoulders bunched up, hands opened in some sort of welcoming gesture, and Chris honestly isn’t entirely sure what he’s talking about.

“You know my name?”

And Josh just laughs, his whole body thrown into it, head hanging back and his laughter bouncing off the dirty metal walls. “You wound me, Cochise. Have more faith in me than that.” Chris finds himself smiling back. _My own body is betraying me, what is this bullshit._

“Yeah, yeah, you can wipe that smug grin off your face.”

Josh’s grin only spreads, and Chris should have really known what he was inviting. “You want me to take anything else off while I’m at it?” And damnit, that stupid smile is back, Chris just can’t stop. Their humor is so similar, and Josh is actually really charismatic and kind for someone so renowned. As their laughter mixes together in the small tin can they’re stuck in, it feels as if they’ve been friends forever.

“I mean, we do have this whole room to ourselves,” is all Chris can think to reply, and suddenly the conversation is easy.

By the time the elevator is working again, they’ve exchanged numbers (to hang out, not because they had sex) and Chris is wondering how he let his walls drop when he was so intent on not liking this man. Josh leaves a floor below him, and as soon as Chris is in his own room he’s dropping his bags on the dust colored carpet. 

He throws his body in the same manner onto his mattress, its original frame long gone. Instead it lies directly on the floor, and while most days Chris curses this as he wakes with an aching back, he finds that it’s at least convenient for moments like this, when all he wants to do is drop dead. 

With effort he fishes his phone from his pocket, ready to take inventory of his apps and check them individually for possibly the fifth time that day, but he finds Josh has already texted him and allows himself to be distracted by that.

[From Josh]: dude why didnt I spend that time in the elevator writing

[From Josh]: I mean obviously I didnt because I was talking to you but

[From Josh]: elevators have such a specific aesthetic, like the best place to write them is definitely from inside one bro

[From Josh]: although youre probably right

[From Josh]: its element is much more rom com than horror

[From Josh]: thanks for saving me Cochise

Chris snorts, both at the amount of texts Josh has managed to send him in five minutes, and at the absurd movement his thoughts seem to be taking. Chris does notice that name again, though, and takes a moment to look it up. There’s several links about the actual history of the man with the name, but he’s pretty sure it’s safe to assume that urban dictionary will be closer to what Josh meant, and he really can’t say he’s wrong.

_Cochise:_

_The ultimate badass, sometimes used for bikers. People will sometimes call others cochise to see just how badass the person they are calling cochise really is._

A second snort follows the first. 

[To Josh]: Go to bed, asshole.

His phone goes off again, but Chris just shakes his head and stands. He plugs his phone in by his desk, the only real piece of furniture in his space other than a worn down coffee table. The desk supports his laptop, his pride and joy, so it’s pretty much immaculate - especially when compared with the rest of place. But hey, college is expensive, and Chris isn’t really interested in a flat that costs as much as his tuition when he’s just going to leave clothes strewn over the floor and never clean anyway.

He strips down and slips on a pair of pajama pants before collapsing onto his mattress again, pulling the monster comforter up and over his shoulders. It’s egg white, and the crispy fabric is cold to the touch, but the initial suffering is worth it for how well it traps heat during the night.

Besides, a badass wouldn’t mind a little cold, and he has to live up to the name.

Chris wonders how he keeps ending up here, falling asleep to thoughts of Josh, but he doesn’t have long to fight himself on it before he’s passed out.

They do end up texting more, and Chris is right. Well, his second opinion is right. For a famous director, Josh really isn’t a bad person. Hell, for anyone, he’s not a bad person. He’s pretty chill, and Chris thinks that they probably would have been childhood friends had they met when they were young.

Josh tries to set up Ashley and Chris for exactly two months. Which doesn’t make much sense, really, considering Ashley has been friends with Chris for years and Josh doesn’t even know her, but he still tries.

It ends when Chris finally throws his phone down on his mattress and drops down next to it with a sigh. He pulls a pillow over his face, and Josh, who is leaning up against the counters, watches with confusion. “My advice isn’t that bad, bro. Come on, you’d get all the ladies if you’d just listen to me.”

And Chris can’t help how upset he sounds, or how the words seem to just pour from his mouth, because he’s tired of having to go through this with everyone he meets, of having to feel as if he’s hiding a part of himself even if he really isn’t being secretive at all. “And what about the guys? Do you have, like, any advice for that? Because if not, you’re probably wasting your breath.” He’s moved the pillow so that his words aren’t muffled, but he doesn’t dare look over Josh by this point. The silence that follows is deafening, and Chris thinks he might actually throw up if he’s ruined this so early on, so he does what he can to fix it - he rambles.

“I mean, I like girls too. Right? I’m bi. But everyone always has advice for me to pick up girls anyway, because they assume that I’m straight just as much as they assume that I’m bad with romance. And hey, I’m not that bad! But most people don’t know what asexual is, or they make a bunch of plant jokes, so I just say bi because asexual doesn’t cover genders anyway, but that’s not the point. The point is I used to like Ashley, I liked her a lot, and I knew it was mutual, but neither of us wanted to mess up our friendship because that wouldn’t be worth it. So we didn’t. Date, I mean. We didn’t date. And we grew out of it.” And Chris thinks he feels worse, now, because that really didn’t help him at all. Sure, Josh might stop trying to push him and Ashley together, but it would be hard for him to do that anyway if he stopped talking to Chris at all, and that didn’t feel worth it. 

He can feel his chest moving, can tell how hard he’s breathing, and he thinks that now is as good a time as ever to look at Josh. Maybe if he can focus on reality he won’t panic so much, and the anxiety boiling in his stomach will disappear. He’s expecting to be laughed at, because Josh laughs at everything, Josh finds the humor in everything, so he keeps the pillow in his arms for comfort. Except Josh isn’t laughing, and when Chris looks over at him, he’s actually smiling. It’s sort of reassuring, and Chris isn’t sure if he should be speaking or not. 

He’s starting to realize just how awkward it is to be laying down while Josh is standing, and the angle is uncomfortable.

But Josh is still there, and his smile actually grows. God, Chris adores that smile. It’s warm and inviting and all too easy to get drunk off of, and Chris almost misses his soft, “Thanks, man.” At Chris’ confused look, he continues. “For telling me. I mean, I know it’s difficult. I don’t really tell most people that I’m pan, I just let ‘em figure it out, you know?” And Chris can feel his walls falling all over again, can feel himself growing attached, and where was Josh in third grade when he was alone and needed a best friend? Because he’s sure now that they would’ve gotten along perfectly. But he’s here presently, and Chris doesn’t even know he’s smiling at first.

Chris thinks that learning Josh is pan is him really opening up, but it turns out it’s not. Josh is so open with who he is that if a stranger were to stop him on the street and ask his sexuality, he’d answer. Maybe he doesn’t go around introducing himself with his sexuality, but he lets his actions and his body speak for itself. If someone was to call him a fag, he’d do what every work of fiction said he should - he’d pull his closest friend even closer and kiss him, give the asshole mocking him the metaphorical finger. Maybe the literal finger, too.

When Chris realizes this, he starts to think he’s failed. Well, failed probably isn’t the right word, considering that Josh isn’t a test, but Chris feels like he’s taken seven steps backward after only two forward. He had finally let go of his stupid bias, he had finally been able to look past wanting to hate someone for success (“Shit, I really am shallow”), he had finally thought they could be friends, when in reality he knows nothing more of Joshua Washington than any fan of his would. They aren’t close at all.

At least, this is the monologue running through his head a month later. He’s stretched across Josh’s couch, feet across the armrest and his head being swallowed by pillows, while he waits for Josh to finish his shower. He doesn’t snoop, and he never plans to do so, because he doesn’t like his own things looked at, so why should he do that to others? So he sits there, playing on his phone instead.

Josh looks relaxed when he comes out of the bathroom, sweats hanging on his hips and hands still threading into the t-shirt. Chris instantly locks his phone, sitting up and patting the spot next to him, to which Josh responds by dropping down and nonchalantly throwing his arms behind him.

“You know, it’s been almost two years since I tried to drown myself in that very tub.”

The room is painfully silent, the only noise coming from the bulb that paints the grey walls in yellow light. Josh doesn’t seem to pick up on the tension, staring up at the ceiling while he talks. “I tried before, you know. Not drowning, but it was still a suicide attempt. When I was a teenager, too. Man, high school sucked, Cochise.” Chris finds himself nodding, not wanting to break the moment by fumbling over his words. The world around him feels fragile, and his breath is now caught in his throat.

If this wasn’t important, they wouldn’t be here right now. Josh may be trying to look relaxed, but his lips are sloped downwards and his eyes look wet. How long must he have been holding this in? How long must he have been alone?

“My sisters helped me through it more than anyone else. They died in a ski accident. I wasn’t really coping so well.” His face begins to scrunch and his lower lip quivers, and Chris can tell that he’s trying not to cry. Gently, he places his hand on Josh’s shoulder, and when the other looks over at him, he holds out his arms as a silent offer.

Josh stares for a moment, as if he’s unfamiliar with being offered comfort, before falling into Chris’ chest and curling his fingers into the worn fabric. Though Chris can’t hear crying, he can feel his shirt growing damp, and Josh takes a sharp breath before his whole body shudders against Chris.

It’s surreal, sitting curled up on the couch with another human, clinging to each other desperately. Chris lightly rubs circles into Josh’s back with his thumb, their plans for a movie night long forgotten. It’s better, almost. A bonding experience, Chris would say. They stay there for hours, Chris with his eyes closed and his fingers making slowing movements, Josh trying to match his breathing to the beat of Chris’ heart. It’s peaceful in a melancholy sense, with the quiet of the night settling around them. Sleep comes to them silently, laying Josh’s head in the crook of Chris’ neck and curling Chris’s arms protectively around Josh’s waist. 

In the morning, when sleep slips out the door and they wake from their positions on the couch, it feels right to be there. There’s no sense of guilt or intrusion, no awkward shrugs or quick departures. Just a sense of comfort, enveloping the apartment in a sense of warmth as the sun streams through the curtains.

∎

Chris doesn’t like Josh.

At least, right now, he can’t tolerate him. Josh has that stupid little smile etched into his face, the one that shows he knows that he’s won.

Chris can’t believe he’s going roller skating.

He can’t believe they’ve grown so close in only half a year since meeting in the elevator. He remembers wishing that Josh had been around in his childhood, and honestly, it feels like they’re childhood friends, the kind that have known each other since third grade.

The city has a distinct smell. Bronze and ash, accented by thick plumes of soot as they pour from both the smokers’ cigar and rusted exhaust pipes alike. The avenues are decorated with passing bodies, and Chris is keeping a running tally of how many people run into him without apologizing as they walk to the rink.

He’s already made it to six.

“Do you think Ashley would like my friend Sam?” The words come suddenly, and the voice behind them sounds distracted, not appearing to have any plans to expand on that.

“Considering all I know about her is that her name is Sam, bro, I really can’t say. What’s up?” He tries to look over at his friend while they talk, but it’s not the greatest idea to keep from watching where you’re going when walking down city streets.

“She used to go out with one of my sisters.” The impact the words hold hits abruptly, as abruptly as the start of the conversation, and Chris has realized by now that that’s just how Josh functions. The mood isn’t as somber as it could be, though. Josh looks fond, more than anything, and the guilt is well hidden. “I feel sort of like I abandoned her. We had a connection, and now that I’m more… more me, I think she should get the chance to move on, too.” It’s nice to hear Josh feeling confident, especially now that he can read between the lines.

He thinks that Josh must have mentioned Sam before, that they use to hold each other together, before Josh drifted off and stopped responding. She used to be the one to send Josh reminders to take his meds, now that Chris thinks about it, and he never really realized that he’d taken over someone else’s position.

“I don’t know, man. I can give her Sam’s number if you want.” The silence lapses, and even with all the noise from the surrounding city, Chris feels like he should keep talking. “You’re family must be pretty open, then?”

The snorting isn’t a great sign. “More like they were never really there.” The fond expression slips into something more pained, and Chris is grateful for the change in direction when Josh continues. “What about your family?”

“My mom’s okay, it’s just her and us kids. I mean, I was pretty much the good kid. Never went out, rarely drank. My sister, she was much more likely to cause trouble.”

There’s smothered laughter beside him, and Chris risks looking over, pleased to see how much Josh’s expression has cleared up. “My kind of gal, I can already tell.”

“Well, I don’t think she’d be interested. She’s already in a polyamorous relationship with two other guys.” It feels good to say, to be able to talk about his family. Chris has never particularly been afraid of being judged, but he really doesn’t like drawn out confrontations, and he never wanted to accidentally hurt Josh, so in all this time he’s never really brought up his family. Never been asked until now, either.

This time there’s full on laughter from beside Josh, and at first, Chris feels almost threatened, as if he needs to go on the defense. He would do anything to protect his loved ones, and the idea that he - that his _sister_ \- is being laughed at? It’s almost enough to make him turn around right there, maybe even to make him punch Josh. “I’m just, like, thinking of you man. Thinking of just how different you are from your sister. You must have been a blessing to your mom. How’d she take that one?”

It was relieving, to say the least. Chris could deal with jokes aimed in his direction. That wasn’t so new.

“Not great, as you could imagine. But I think she’s started to come to terms with it now that she can see that my sister’s not just playing these two. They love each other, the three of them. Jess wouldn’t be with them if she didn’t really care for them, and Matt and Mike care for each other, too. Like, as much as they love Jessica, they’re not only there for her.” 

Chris doesn’t notice Josh’s fond expression slip back onto his face, too absorbed in his proud rambling. He should probably call Jess later, put an alarm in his phone or something.

It’s not long after that they finally reach the rink. The place is dim, dark, and dusty, and it reminds Chris of being fourteen. Somehow it’s both familiar and comfortable, even if it looks older now, haunted by its many years.

The carpet is a saving grace, letting Chris get used to the idea of skates again before he actually makes his way to polished floor. It would be more embarrassing if the place wasn’t so empty, but as it is, there’s really only a handful of people.

“Thank god. Less people to run into,” he mumbles, trying to watch both the ground beneath his feet and the space before him.

He’s not awful, in the end. Definitely not graceful, but he doesn’t fall once, even using inline blades. Music plays in the background, the bass deep enough to bounce from the walls and consume the room, and while Chris would never listen to any of this of his own accord, it definitely works with skating. 

At some point, he loses Josh. He drifts to avoid a group of four that think it’s a good idea to skate in a line, and by the time he’s made it past them, Josh is already around the bend of the rink. 

After ten minutes of trying to play catch up, he gives up. Skating alone isn’t much different than skating together, considering that it’s too loud to really have a conversation, but it feels isolating. He moves slower and more languidly, sticking closer to the outside edge now that he isn’t chasing after someone. Chris almost runs into the small kid using the wall for guidance when a hand lands on his shoulder, and he turns to find Josh smiling at him.

“Dude, I’ve been trying to catch up to you forever.” Chris rolls his eyes, a muttered ‘sure’ slipping off of his tongue as he starts matching his pace to Josh’s.

An hour later the speakers crack into life, a voice splitting through the music to inform skaters that the rink is now for beginner backwards-skaters only, and Chris is ready to leave the floor when Josh grabs his hand. “We should totally do this, we’re pro enough.”

Chris is already preparing for defeat, even when giving his necessary objections. “That is such a bad idea.”

“It’s not!” Josh continues, not deterred at all by Chris’ lack of enthusiasm. “I’ll even be the one to go backwards. Come on, Cochise.” With a sigh, Chris grabs onto his wrists, fingers wrapping around warm skin and a leather bracelet. Josh almost falls when he tries to do a celebratory fist bump, already forgetting that Chris is holding onto him, and Chris swears he should have dropped him then and there.

He also swears that god must be real, considering that they only fell once. For the most part, they go even slower than the rest of the beginners, sticking closely to the inside edge. Turning is the hardest part, and it becomes even more difficult when they fall apart in laughter. They’re just so bad that it’s ridiculous, and Chris has to wonder why the refs don’t manage to pull them off the floor.

The voice comes over the speaker once again as the song finishes, and for a moment, Chris thinks he’s free. Instead, they’re flipping and skating in the other direction now, and turning themselves around proves to be more difficult than actually skating backwards.

By the time the beginner skate is over, their shirts are damp with sweat and their eyes with tears. They laugh their way off the rink, deciding that they’ve had enough for one night. Once their skates are handed in and their shoes returned to them, they collapse comfortably into a booth, each with an icee in hand.

The rest of their night runs just as smoothly. The outside air is a refreshing change, neither of them realizing just how warm and stuffy it was beginning to become inside. They decide icees aren’t enough and begin heading in the direction of the frozen yogurt place that Josh knows is only a few blocks away, his promises of paying luring Chris in - as if Chris wasn’t going to say yes anyway. He finds it nice that Josh still considers his budget, though, and thinks about how a great night out cost him only seven dollars for admission and three to rent skates.

It’s generally just nice to be thought of.

∎

Chris doesn’t like Josh.

He tells himself this in the mirror in the morning thrice today, and he believes it. Maybe. Well, no, he doesn’t, but he doesn’t have to. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? He can keep on being oblivious and everything will be fine. He’ll finish getting dressed, grab an apple or a pear for breakfast, and meet up with Ashley as planned. No Josh, no crushes, no worrying. He doesn’t like Josh, after all. Not like _that_.

Ashley flat out laughs at him when he tells her this, expression scrunched and voice incredulous.

The bus ride back is dull. The metal walls of the bus only exaggerate the cold that slips in through open doors, and the windows are spattered with raindrops that creep in through openings in the window frame. Chris pulls his hood up over his ears, cold despite his five layers (a tank top, short sleeves, an unbuttoned button up, a slim jacket, and, of course, his signature puffy jacket), and leans his head against the window. It’s difficult to not drift off, the slow movements of the bus lulling him to sleep, but Chris can’t afford to miss his stop. Again.

(Last time it had taken him almost out of the city, and the ride back had taken him an extra forty minutes - not to mention the wasted time he spent snoring, his stop passing him while his eyes were closed. It had threw off his sleep schedule, too, and wasn’t it already hard enough for him to get enough rest?)

Instead, Chris tries to keep his mind active, eyes scanning the passing buildings while he makes a mental checklist of things to do in his head. Download the pictures he and Ashley took, sort through which are most usable, start the outlines of what he wants to do in terms of coding for their web page - his stomach grumbles, and he adds eating lunch to his checklist. The plastic bag in his lap contains enough groceries - he adds putting those away to the list as well - to make a few filling meals, easy enough that even Chris can do it with his limited skills.

Okay, so there’s a good handful of tv dinners in there, so what. Cooking takes talent, and Chris didn’t have have money to throw away on trying to learn. He hadn’t passed culinary in high school, either, so he definitely wouldn’t get it on his first try now, and he really can’t afford to pay for fire damage.

His stomach grumbles again, insistent sounds that are almost painful, and eating gets moved up to the top of the list. Junk sounds better than a microwaved meal right now, though, and Chris thinks about the Italian place two blocks away that calls itself the _Full Italian Experience_ , even though it only serves pizza, with grease pooling in the bottom of the paper plates. He idly wonders if Josh has eaten yet, and if he’d really want to walk through the rain just for some mediocre food. Or because Chris wants him to, but really, that reason seems so flimsy that the pizza grease would be enough to soak it through. Still, there’s no harm in asking, right? He wants some company, it’s devastating to switch from afternoon with constant company to being on his own, and, well, Josh is there. He’s laid back enough to not need plans solidified a week ahead, and Chris could pop in after dropping off his camera and groceries. It made sense. Like, he could make sure Josh ate this way, too.

Because sometimes he forgot. Sometimes Josh got too caught up in his work, was too intensely invested in his writing to stop. It broke the mood, the ambiance. It didn’t have a consistent feeling in the background if the outline wasn’t done all at once, and Josh would forgo all self care if it meant perfecting his work. Maybe that was why he was so famous, really. He didn’t do it for the money; God knew he already had enough, and even then he often didn’t pamper himself with it. Instead he worked because he loved doing it, because he was passionate about it, because it filled him with a sense of belonging and pride, and wasn’t that noble? His eyes always seemed brightest when he was writing, and anyone else in the room would be completely forgotten if he had something he wanted to make a note of. It was, well, almost beautiful. It _was_ beautiful. A love story between a piece of humanity and living, breathing work. No one could deny Josh’s talent, or how all of his works seemed to sing. No one could deny Josh anything, really. He was too good at talking himself out of situations, at charming people into trusting him whether for good or for bad, at being so filled with energy and charisma that he can take up anyone’s entire mind-

Shit.

Chris’ stop was passed twenty minutes ago, and he can already feel his stomach sinking at the idea of even ten minutes outside to wait for another bus. He pulls out his headphones - and in hindsight those were probably a bad idea anyway, listening to music was already too distracting - and starts pulling together his few belongings.

By the time he’s back home, he feels drenched, and walking to that pizza joint (“Let’s just call it what it is,” he would say) is so unappealing that it almost would feel cruel to force his body through it.

The camera goes on his desk, his backpack laid on his mattress, and the plastic bag on the small counter. He’s putting away the last half of his groceries when there’s a knock on his door, and he doesn’t even think to question who it could be when he opens his door to Josh’s smiling face. And god, does his smile shine. It fills Chris with a warmth that penetrates the cold air of the apartment - and damn his radiator for being broken at a time like this - and Chris doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Josh laughs.

“I heard this floor’s heating was broken, thought I’d ask if you wanted to go get some food.” Chris continues staring at Josh as if he’s actually an angel sent from above, or possibly a demon meant to trick Chris into thinking he’s content and has everything he wants before Josh steals his soul, but honestly, if Chris had Josh, who would care if his soul was gone or not. Suddenly, after nodding dumbly, the trek outdoors doesn’t seem so horrible anymore.

Fifteen minutes later they’re squished in a corner booth separated from the small crowd seeking shelter from the rain, and Chris hums happily as he eats his second slice. “God, I thought I was going to starve. I mean, five more minutes and I would’ve had to resort to eating my own leg.” Josh tries to laugh around the food in his mouth, pizza dropped back onto its plate as he reaches for a napkin. “Bro, don’t worry. I would’ve let you eat my leg instead.” Chris can hear the warmth in his voice, and that’s a word Chris has come to associate with Josh. Warm eyes, a warm smile, a warm laugh. He thinks he could watch Josh all day, content watching him just going about his usual routine. 

Naturally, the only proper response is to place a hand on his chest dramatically.

“Bro. You’d do that for me?” And this time Chris is the one choking, even though the joke was his own, and that just makes it all the funnier to him. They get looks from the group of people still waiting out the rain, most of which having been convinced to buy a slice and sit at the unsturdy tables for a time while they wait.

The two sit in companionable silence after that, eating and smiling and occasionally kicking each other under the table. (Chris later insists that he was _not_ playing footsies, but no one believes him, not even Josh.) It’s nice, and for the first time in a long while, Chris is glad he moved away from home.

They’re cleaning up and getting ready to leave when Josh bumps Chris’s shoulder with his own. “Hey man, when do you think your radiator will be fixed?” Chris visibly slumps at this, looking out at the drenched streets and slicked buildings. Most of the others have left by now, even though the rain has yet to let up, and he has no idea how he’s going to ever dry off. He wonders why they didn’t bring an umbrella with them, but then Chris hears Josh’s voice calling it an adventure, pictures the two of them huddled against each other as they walk, and he doesn’t need to ask.  
“You know our landlord, it’ll be a blessing if he calls maintenance by the end of the week.” He stuffs his hands in his pocket, shivering despite the fact that they’re still lurking by the closed door, and the glares that the owner sends them makes it clear that he obviously wants them to leave.

“I’ll be wearing blankets as robes around my house all day. I always knew I was royalty.” He’s finally pushing his way into the streets at this, hesitant to leave Josh where he can’t be seen but not willing to risk the wrath of the pizza shop’s owner. He goes here too often to find a replacement. He only really has a second to worry, though. Josh is next to him in a moment, side pressed up against Chris, and he’s smiling like he’s up to no good again. 

“Why don’t you just stay with me until it’s fixed?” And Chris thinks he must have slipped in a puddle and hit his head, because he doesn’t even hesitate at all to answer.

“That would be amazing.” He knows he sounds desperate, and he can feel himself flush from his face to his chest, but he hates the cold, and Josh is offering, and he wants to go.

To share Josh’s apartment. For a whole night. Maybe multiple nights. Oh god.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” And now he’s nervous, fingers tapping against his thigh, almost hoping Josh will take it back.

“It’s cool, Cochise. I like sleepovers. I’d say we could order pizza, but we sort of just had it.” And Chris can laugh at that at least, can laugh despite the rain and the cold and the anxiety that’s comfortably settling down in stomach, and he knows that he’ll be fine.

∎

They stop by Chris’ apartment first. He shoves a few sets of clothing into a backpack, grabs his laptop case and phone charger, and wastes ten minutes making sure he hasn’t forgotten anything before they finally lock the door behind them and head down a floor.

There’s immediately a noticeable difference in temperature in Josh’s room, and Chris is quick to throw himself down on the cream colored couch as soon as his bags are dropped at his.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you.” Josh looks smug again, shoulder leaned up against the doorway and arms loosely crossed as he watched the nerd before him settle down.

As the Mature and Responsible adult that he is, Chris sticks out his tongue.

Netflix gets thrown on as white noise, since neither of them are really paying attention to it. Both are absorbed in their own work, Josh typing furiously on his laptop and Chris focusing on the schoolwork he brought with him. It continues like this for most of the night, until the pain in Chris’ neck is so hot that it screams for rest. He calls to Josh, whose eyes are watering from staring at a screen for so long, and neither have any objection to going to sleep at this point.

Even with the windows shut, the heavy curtains drawn, and the heater on, the room still feels freezing come the middle of the night. Chris has his hoodie on still, even though his pajama bottoms are flannel and there are two thickly woven blankets rested across his knees. He tucks his knees against his chest, pulling the blankets up further so that they can cover his chin, but that doesn’t help much. The tossing and turning is distracting, but he’s not comfortable, and he can’t sleep if he’s not comfortable.

“Bro, just come and sleep up here.” Josh’s voice slices easily through the silence, soft and rumbling. Chris wonders how long he’s been awake for, if he couldn’t sleep or if Chris’ constant shifting had woken him, but he can’t argue how badly he wants to be beneath that comforter.

He drags the blankets with him, bringing himself, the fabric, and his phone from couch to bed. Josh has already pulled down the tops of the sheets for him, and he slips in, happy to sink into the sound warmth of a real bed. He’s on his phone again, slightly more alert after having stood up and relocated, so he defaults to checking his email. A dull tapping sound fills the space around them, Chris methodically checking of messages to add to spam or delete. He doesn’t notice that Josh has stopped writing in the notepad on his phone, or that Josh is watching him with tired eyes and a dopey expression. He doesn’t recognize that Josh is paying him any attention at all until his thick voice cuts once again through the silence of the night.

“Chris?” 

He musters up a, “Yeah?” The question mark at the ending trailing off, leaving it more a statement than anything.

“I really like you.” It’s quiet. Chris looks at him.

“I don’t like you.” Chris doesn’t even realize what he’s said, or the negative connotation his words hold, and Josh’s crestfallen look feels like sharp metal piercing the vulnerable area between his shoulder blades. He’s reaching out, fingers trembling as he grabs for any part of Josh he can reach so long as it keeps him there, and he ends up with one hand on Josh’s waist and another on his shoulder. His own posture is wrenched from his quick reaction, his phone tossed somewhere within the sheets, or possibly to the floor, but how could he really care about that right now?

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, I don’t just regularly like you, I like you a lot. I-” Chris pauses, unsure he really wants to admit to this right now. It’s embarrassing, or it should be, but it’s a bit too late to back down now, isn’t it? “I used to tell myself in the mirror that I didn’t like you, because I thought it was fruitless, and I thought - well. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, so I figured convincing myself would be the easiest thing to do.”

Josh slaps his shoulder, and Chris thinks he may actually be more stunned than if Josh had aimed for his face. Why isn’t he being punched?

“You’re an idiot. We could have had this figured out fucking weeks ago!” Josh’s expression is a mixture of relief and fake scorn, his obvious attempt at trying to hide a smile failing tremendously.

Beneath his breath, Chris is saying, “More like months,” considering he knows that he’s had these feelings before he could even identify what they are. But they have time to finish talking this over in the morning, and after cutting himself off with a tender yarn, his main thought process is that a warm slumber sounds perfect. “Can I lay on you?” It feels childish to ask, but he wants to be sure. He takes Josh’s gentle smile and open arms as a yes, and with his head on Josh’s chest, he kisses his collarbone before settling down and drifting into the soundest sleep he can recall having since college started.

∎

Seven months into their relationship they’re laying in bed, and god, Chris loves not sleeping on a mattress on the ground. It must have been only a month of dating before Josh had asked if he wanted to move in, and Chris didn’t see why not - they lived in the same building, a floor away from each other, and practically spent every second they had in each other’s rooms anyway. Eating, sleeping, spending time together, doing work. Chris loved watching Josh write; it was hypnotic in a way that nothing else ever could be.

What he hadn’t expected was for Josh to have already made payments for an entirely new, relocated apartment, one that was bigger and cleaner and much nicer than Chris could afford. He felt like he was abusing Josh’s income, but Josh had already let his current lease run out and payed for the new flat, and when he told Chris that he just wanted him to be happy and spoiled, Chris could all but feel his heart melt. So no wasn’t really an answer.

And now they’re here together, Chris comfortably thrown over Josh’s chest, and all he can think about is how much he never wants to move again.

“What was it that made you like me?” Chris wants to bite his tongue, but he’s honestly curious, and the gentle fingers in his hair are lulling him into a comfortable sense of drowsy confidence. He feels cared for, more than anything, and the idea of losing that - of losing Josh - is terrifying.

Josh smiles, his face pressed into strands of blond, and hums quietly. “I saw you out there in the rain, that day. I doubt you remember, but you were carrying-” 

“A pizza box. I remember, it was my first real impression of you. I hated it, because I wanted to hate you, but you were so. Genuine. Caring.” Chris remembers that scenario really well, actually. It was always the one thing that seemed to keep him from forsaking Josh completely. 

“You think?” 

“Yeah.” And Chris laughs, because even after seven months of dating, and the months of friendship before that, Josh still seems to never believe Chris. Or, maybe it isn’t so much that he doesn’t believe Chris, but that he honestly enjoys that reassurance so much that he’ll never pass up an opportunity to check. It’s endearing how authentic his interest is. Adorable, actually, but Chris saves calling him anything of the sort for when he’s too tired to do anything but pout, like an extra large and super sleepy puppy. “But you’re not off the hook, bro. You need to answer the question.” 

Chris can feel Josh’s snort on his scalp, and his smile grows.

“Well, I saw you running through the storm, and I couldn’t shut the door on you - I don’t think I really would have shut the door for anyone, but you were so determined, and you looked so distraught, and I thought hey, maybe I should just help him, it’s not a big deal.” Chris listens intently, unsure where this is going, but he’s undoubtedly interested. “And then you finally reached indoors and just gave such a relieved sigh, as if this building was really home, and you were so genuine-” 

“Hey, that’s my word!” 

“Shut up, man, it’s true,” Josh is trying not to laugh at this point, and Chris can feel the sudden and repeated rise and fall of his chest. “And you were grinning from ear to ear, you were so proud of yourself for making it, shaking water from your hair even though your glasses were still so soaked that there’s no way you could have still been able to see, and you just made me - think. Well.” 

Chris knows that Josh is rambling by this point as well as Josh himself does, but it’s so earnest, and he can feel a familiar warmth that speaks of a home filling his chest. “Yeah?” Josh is quiet, his mood much softer in the moment. It would be worrying if Chris couldn’t feel the arms around him tighten protectively.

“You made me think that one day, perhaps I’d maybe like to get married.”

“Josh?” Chris’ voice is tentative, and he wonders idly if all the emotions that are coursing through his veins right now are also pouring into his words.

Josh’s responding, “Yeah?” is so small, a careful step in case he’s misdirected anything.

“I don’t get married until the second date.” Chris receives a elbow to the ribs for that, because Josh has tried to take him out on a real date so often that they now keep a tally board of all the times their plans have fallen through, but Josh’s accompanying laughter fills the room, and he doesn’t think he could ever regret the light bruise that will decorate his side come morning.

∎

And no -  
Chris doesn’t like Josh.

Chris loves him.

**Author's Note:**

> I think, of this entire fic, I'm most self-conscious about the use of the word 'icee.' Way to be regional. But really, it's been so long since I've written anything, I feel so rusty.
> 
> Also, as a note, I really wanted to put Emily in this, but couldn't find a way. I headcanon her as aromantic, but that didn't really fit into a conversation about relationships between their friends and siblings.
> 
> Come say hello to me at donvex.tumblr.com, I love hearing back from people.


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